“And that means?” Scott said. “Go on.”
“That means,” Jessica said, “that ’Cats One and Two came from a clan that’s having a hard time finding enough food. We found the bodies near one of the burned-out areas. I’m guessing they lost a lot of their range.”
Anders took over. “’Cat Three, by contrast, shows more typical ’cat eating habits. I’m guessing he came from a clan that lost some of its range to fire but is still doing all right.” He grinned and poked Jessica in the ribs. “Or he’s just weird, like Valiant.”
“I agree with you,” Scott said. “About two different clans—not about Valiant being weird. I’ll add that the proportion of fish in those two ’cats’ diet is also off. My friend Fisher, is a fanatic. Most ’cats, given the choice, eat a more balanced selection, but a river or stream would replenish more quickly than a burned forest, so that’s more evidence for that male and female coming from a territory hard-hit by the fires.”
“And that brings us to the ugly conclusion that the tree cats really are fighting over territory and resources.” Anders sighed. “Why don’t they share?”
“Why wouldn’t human share in a similar situation?” Jessica retorted, her voice holding all her eloquent awareness of how often humans did not.
“I know, I know…” Anders replied. “It’s just, I guess, I hoped they were better than we are.”
“I think in some ways they are, most of the time,” Scott spoke up. “But these two clans have been badly stressed by the fires. Remember, they were extraordinarily bad last year. We shouldn’t be surprised that the side effects are just as bad.”
“You’re right,” Anders conceded. “And all we know right now is that one group’s range seems to be in better shape than the other’s. We don’t know how much better, or how large each group is, or anything about their situations, really. Maybe they aren’t sharing resources because they don’t have enough for both groups.” He shook his head, his expression sad. “If they don’t, this may be the only way they can settle who gets to survive the winter.”
There was silence for a moment, until Jessica broke it.
“So, what next? Any ideas?”
“I have a couple,” Anders said. “Why don’t you and I try to locate the Skinny ’Cat Clan? We’ve got some good clues. They’re probably near a river. They’re probably not too far—as the treecat runs—from where we found the bodies.”
“And they’re probably using picketwood,” Jessica added. “I’m for it. We can fly to the general area, then hike. Valiant might be able to help us.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about you two running loose in what might be a war zone,” Scott cut in.
“We should be all right,” Anders said. “There aren’t any registered cases of tree cats attacking humans without being provoked. Heck, even when they have been provoked—”
“Like by that slime-sucker Tennessee Bolgeo,” Jessica inserted.
“—they’ve shown a lot of restraint. And we’ll have Valiant.”
“Okay. But you go armed,” Scott said, then paused. “You do know how to handle a gun?” he asked.
“Anders does,” Jessica said, “and I have my stun gun and my sprayer. They might not faze a hexapuma, but treecats are a lot smaller than that.”
“It’s not as if I could stop you,” Scott said, “so go with my blessing. That way I’ll know when you set out and you’ll have someone to check in with.”
“We could look for the other clan, too,” Anders added. “But if their territory wasn’t so badly hit, finding them is going to be harder.”
“Start with the Skinny ’Cat Clan,” Scott advised. “One step at a time.”
“Will go tomorrow,” Anders said.
“Weather permitting,” Jessica added practically, looking up at the clouds gathering overhead.
“Bleek!” Valiant added, but whether the ’cat’s comment indicated enthusiasm or resignation—or simply a desire for lunch—Anders could not tell.
Chapter Seventeen
“Man, am I ever glad that’s over!” Jeff Harrison said emphatically, dropping into a chair across the table from Karl, Stephanie, and Lionheart in the LUM student union. “Hi, Lionheart!” he continued, handing over the stalk of celery with which he’d thoughtfully provided himself on his way past the salad bar.
“Gee, thanks, Jeff,” Stephanie said, watching the ’cat pounce on the treat as if no one had offered him celery in the last decade or two. She knew she shouldn’t really indulge him the way she’d been doing for the past week, but her heart wasn’t in it. “That’s his ninth piece today,” she continued, doing her best to sound completely normal. “But, hey! Who’s counting?”
“Sorry, Steph.” Harrison smiled in what looked like genuine apology. “It’s just that I’m not going to get many more chances to spoil the little guy before you and Karl—and Lionheart—head back off to the boonies.”
“Let’s watch just exactly whose planet we’re going to call ‘the boonies,’” Karl suggested. His voice sounded a little unnatural to Stephanie, but Harrison’s smile turned into a grin.
“If the shoe fits, buddy,” he said, then looked back at Stephanie. “I’ve got to admit I was sweating that final. But I suppose you aced it?”
There was no malice or resentment in his teasing tone, and Stephanie managed to smile back at him.
“Nope,” she said. “I did pretty well, and I figure I’ll get out of the course with a 4.0, but only because Dr. Flouret gave us that extra credit question. I checked my notes after I saved the final and mailed it in, and I blew the question about the Draper Precedent.”
“You blew a question?” Harrison pressed a hand to his chest and goggled his eyes at her.
“It happens…from time to time,” she told him, not mentioning that she’d performed at less than her best on at least three of her four finals. She wasn’t used to having something like that happen. Then again, she wasn’t used to being worried sick over what was happening back on Sphinx.
“I suppose you got it right when you took the course?” she challenged after a moment.
“Darn right I did.” Harrison elevated his nose. “It just happens that the Draper Precedent was critical to a case I had to analyze as part of my midterm research paper last semester. I had to practically commit the majority Bench opinion to memory word-for-word. Which,” he acknowledged just a bit complacently, “came in very handy for the final.”
“Figures,” Karl said just a bit sourly.
“Got you, too, did it?” Harrison asked more sympathetically. “I admit it’s tricky. But that reconstructive nanotech’s been critical to at least a dozen high-profile cases since 1487. Anyone who expects to be a career cop needs to understand when it’s admissible and when it isn’t. I’d, ah, been a little sloppy about that early in the semester; that’s why Justice Tibbetts assigned it for my research paper. I didn’t much enjoy it, but she did have a point about that.”
“You’re probably right,” Karl acknowledged. “On the other hand, it’s not something we’re going to need all that often out in ‘the boonies,’ now is it?”
“Probably not,” Harrison agreed. “Of course, I probably won’t need to know a hexapuma’s vital areas anytime real soon, either. And even if I did—”
A server moved past their table, slapping Harrison’s beer down in front of him, and he took a deep, appreciative sip. Then he looked back across at Stephanie.
“So, you guys are done now, right?”
“Yes, we are.” She leaned back in her chair, gathering Lionheart in her arms as he swarmed into her lap. “Of course, the grades haven’t been posted yet.” She grimaced. “Dr. Flouret says they won’t be up until day after tomorrow, and Dr. Gleason’s probably won’t be up any sooner.”